


Sundry prompts for B2MEM2021

by TheTremulousHand



Series: The King Our Father [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, B2MEM2021, Corporal Punishment, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Non-Sexual Spanking, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 21:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30061695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTremulousHand/pseuds/TheTremulousHand
Summary: These are some prompts filled for the Back to Middle Earth March 2021 Challenge. Be forewarned that I am extremely bad at prompts, and often end up writing something that only relates to the prompt if you turn around three times, stand on your head and squint.May have spanking in later chapters.
Relationships: Aragorn & Boromir, Aragorn & Faramir
Series: The King Our Father [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211591
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: Back to Middle-earth Month (B2MEM) 2021





	Sundry prompts for B2MEM2021

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #1: Music can be a calming entity or a powerful force. Make music the center of your creation, or find a story or art tagged ‘music’ to read/view and comment on.
> 
> Also note that most of these prompts are written in an alternate universe. It might be prudent to read the quick explanation here https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211591 before you dive into the story.

Despite clearly having trouble swallowing without wincing, Faramir still kept on insisting that he was Completely Fine for the largest part of the afternoon. Aragorn, not particularly anxious himself for the battle of wills that would be sure to follow any attempts to administer care, satisfied himself with keeping a sharp but discrete eye on him. Faramir had settled in a corner of the king’s study, as he was wont to do on free afternoons, with an old book in his lap. He did not read much, but Aragorn declined to comment the obvious.

He kept on indulging him, up until the very moment he put a hand on Faramir’s shoulder in passing – a gesture that no longer startled the boy which was a victory in Aragorn’s eyes – and felt heat emanating from him like from a well-stacked hearth fire.

It startled him badly, but he kept his expression neutral as he moved around to in front of Faramir.

“You feel very warm, Fara.”

“’Tis naught but a small flash of heat,” Faramir said, trying to duck from beneath Aragorn’s palm. “I was standing in the sun.”

“And where, pray tell, have you been in the sun? I did not see you at the window, and even if you were, you would need a fantastically long neck to reach the closest sunbeam.”

“This morning,” Faramir said, stiffly. “I was in the sun for a long time this morning.”

Which, in itself, made Aragorn even more worried because his younger ward was nothing if not dangerously intelligent. He had to be very ill to offer such a weak and ineffective lie.

“Perhaps you were. And that makes me all the more anxious about this fever. Come, you ought to be in bed.”

Faramir managed to duck this time, closing the book and standing quickly with a mutinous set to his mouth.

“I am quite capable of continuing as normal, my lord. I will take something tonight before bed, and I will be as good as new in the morning.”

“You will take something before going to bed, but it will be this afternoon, within a few short minutes. Not tonight.” Aragorn held up a hand when Faramir opened his mouth. “Nay, Faramir. Do not argue with me. You are ill, and maybe dangerously so if you do not start respecting your body’s signals. You need rest and medicine, and maybe with some grace you will be as good as new in the morning.”

Blood flared in Faramir’s fair face and his eyes flashed, although Aragorn would have been hard pressed to say whether from temper or from temperature.

“I thank you for your concern, my lord. I do not need your help, and if I do need it, I will ask for it.”

“That’s the second time you have my lorded me,” Aragorn said pleasantly. “If that is your attempt at showing me that you are in perfectly good health and sound mind you are amiss, dear Faramir.”

Faramir scowled at this, folding his arms across his chest.

“I do not pretend to be in good health, Aragorn,” he said, clearly deciding to adjust his tactics somewhat. “But truly, you are overreacting. I have a little infection in my throat, a little fever, and maybe my head hurts a little, but its not worth a great uproar.”

Aragorn reached out a hand, slow enough that Faramir could see it clearly, and placed it squarely on his forehead. It was fairy scorching. Aragorn kept his hand there, seeing Faramir grow a little calmer under the physical contact.

“I am afraid that the fever is not so very little. And your throat is hurting you – I have noticed the way you wince every time you have to swallow. Adding a headache to that must be exceedingly unpleasant. I do not want you in pain, and I do not want you to get any sicker than what you are now. So, please, allow me to help you.”

Faramir was watching him intently as he spoke, grey eyes wide. Then he looked away, something suspiciously akin to moisture glistening in his eyes.

“I do not wish to burden you,” he said quietly. “I will go to the Houses of Healing. You do not need to help me yourself.”

Aragorn, seeing that the battle was indeed won, turned him to the door, slipping an arm around Faramir’s shoulders and drawing him close.

“I will decide what I need to do, dear one.”

Within a remarkably short time – because Aragorn could see his young ward growing more limp by the second – he had Faramir changed into night-clothes and bundled into bed with a few admittedly nasty but very effective draughts having been poured down his throat.

“Now, my friend, will you stay in bed and sleep like a good boy, or do I need to threaten you?”

Calling him ‘my friend’ as he might Legolas or Gimli or Boromir never failed to make his young charge smile, which he did now rather reluctantly.

“I’ll try to sleep, but I cannot promise success.” And then, seeing Aragorn settling himself into the comfortable chair next to the bed. “It is not necessary for you to stay. I will keep to my bed, even if I cannot sleep.”

“Hush.” Aragorn placed a heavy hand in the centre of Faramir’s back. “I will treat you to a secret Elvish lullaby, known to make even the most hyper-active of elflings fall asleep where they stand.”

“I am no elfling,” Faramir protested.

“I assure you, it works on human children just as well.”

Faramir gave no answer, his eyes drooping, settling under the comforting weight of Aragorn’s hand.

He was deeply asleep before Aragorn had finished the first line of the old lay.

**Author's Note:**

> See, I warned you I was bad at prompts.


End file.
